Until you came (Zarry) /English Version

18. Jealousy

"Uh, Harry...".

 He's trying not to interrupt me, although I would have liked that. Because I don't know what to say. Harry enjoys my embarrassment and my stuttering. 

"Uhh,..."

 I just can't say a word. Why is he so upsetting me? Those green eyes - they're staring at me. Immediately I have to think of my painting of him. This green...I'm trying to memorize the hue to finish my work.

" What do you want, Zayn?" he finally intervenes in my embarrassing stammering. 

"Ccc could I borrow some coffee beans, please?", I'll explain my appearance.

 "Coffee beans? Oh, of course." he replies.

 "Am I coming at a bad time, Hazza?"

This is my first step to see what's up.

 "Eh, well, I've got company.", he says. 

"Am I disturbing you very much?" Harry thinks about it.

 "No, come in quickly. I'm sure you'll leave right away. So it doesn't matter." 

What the hell is he saying? I'll leave right away? I must admit I wasn't expecting this. And I'm in bad mood. I have to come up with something so I can stay.  I say to myself. Harry rummages around in drawers, tears open cupboards and looks for coffee. 

"I don't know where Taylor put the coffee." 

He'll finds what he's looking for in the back shelf. Joyfully he presses the bag of coffee into my hand and for a split second our fingertips touch. I am briefly in shock. I sense yearning, desire and love.

 "Thank you." Harry stands there, embarrassed and looking down at his fingertips.

 "I was just about to make some coffee. Do you want one, Zayn?" he asks shyly.

 God finally listened to my prayers. I nod. 

"You need some help, babe?" Oh God, did I just really say that? He's frowning.

 "I'm Harry, Zayn."

 "Sorry, Harry. It just slipped out of my mouth."

With our cups in the hand, he asks me out for the terrace. That's where this asshole sits and craving for my neighbour. When he sees me, I notice his disappointment. He'd like to be alone with the sexy curly head, I think. I'm here to bust up your game. Styles is mine.

"Hi, I'm Louis Tomlinson," says the stranger. 

"Malik. Zayn Malik," I answer dismissively. 

Harry sits between us and doesn't really know what to say. On the table lie piles of paper. I'm trying to see what's written on it. 

"Louis is my publisher, Zayn," he justifies his visit.

 "Is that so? How's your work going?" I want to know, just to say something. 

"Quite well. Even though just not fast enough for Mr. Tomlinson, isn't it?" he jokes and pokes to the brown-haired man. 

He nods and I get the feeling that he's not happy about my coming. I'm disturbing him in his courtship of Harry. The novel is secondary to Tomlinson. I wonder if Harry notices it or not. Harry doesn't seriously believe that his publisher is only interested in his crime novel. The situation is tense. He's watching us. So he notices it after all.